1992 marked the official end of the Cold War on the global st age, but for Liz, 18, a different kind of battle was just beginning in her corner of the U.S. After deciding to go on The Pill for birth control, she kept it to herself—until her deeply religious mother stumbled upon the prescription during one of her snooping expeditions through Liz’s purse.

The confrontation was immediate and furious. Caught off guard, Liz lied instinctively, claiming she needed the medication to treat acne and regulate her period. It didn’t matter.

Her mother dismissed the explanation outright, branding Liz as sinful, dirty, and shameful. At that moment, their relationship irrevocably shifted. The rules tightened. The judgment deepened. Her mother’s wrath escalated to threats of pressing rape charges against Liz’s boyfriend—even though Liz was a legal adult.

Scapegoating the acne that had plagued Liz since she was nine connected the dots: during all those visits to the dermatologist as a teen, The Pill had never been offered. Had her mother vetoed it behind the scenes, fearing it would be a “free pass to be a whore?” (Her mother’s words, not hers.)

Liz’s mother’s wrath was rooted in the rigid dogma of religious fundamentalism, where controlling women’s bodies was seen as a moral duty and even the thought of sex was deemed a slippery slope to damnation.

In the aftermath, Liz learned from friends about The Pill’s other medical uses—regulating periods, managing PCOS (Polycystic Ovary Syndrome), and alleviating endometriosis. The more she learned, the more she began to see it as a legitimate tool for health and autonomy, not the symbol of shameful promiscuity her upbringing taught her to view it as.

That discovery, however, came at a steep cost. The Pill didn’t just change Liz’s body—it changed everything between her and her mother. And now, four decades later, the shame and condemnation from that pivotal moment still hangs over their fractured relationship like a guillotine blade.

When medication is intertwined with religious dogma and societal control, we suffer. The Pill, regardless of how it’s used—whether for contraception or medical issues—shouldn’t trigger shame, defensiveness, or fear of judgement. And yet, for millions of women, it does.

Take Veronica, for example.

Unlike Liz, Veronica was put on birth control at age twelve to help regulate her period. Veronica’s mother, too, was Catholic. Yet, in her case, The Pill was viewed as medicine. Veronica’s cycle wasn’t normal, and she needed care.

Without effective clinical testing or diagnostic alternatives for women (thanks to the mid-20th century exclusion of women from medical trials), The Pill was the answer to twelve-year-old Veronica’s symptoms. Veronica’s “X” wasn’t a desire for contraception; it was the prevention of anemia from too much bleeding at a developmental age.

Veronica, like Liz, is one of millions of women worldwide who are prescribed The Pill as a first-line treatment for non-fertility-related disorders — yet it has hardly been accessible.

No medication’s side effect should be shame.

Veronica, now abroad and on the far-end of her menstrual maturity, finds it puzzling that the first-line treatment for perimenopause (also The Pill) is not covered by her German insurance unless the prescription distinctly states that it is being used for hormonal treatment, not for contraception.

Why is The Pill acceptable as medicine for managing MS, PCOS, Veronica’s anemia, or Liz’s acne, but controversial when used for its original intent? Why does its availability still carry the weight of moral judgment, rooted in outdated beliefs surrounding female sexuality?

The answer is simple: systemic misogyny.

From its earliest days, The Pill was inaccessible to single women, requiring them to justify their choices in the context of marriage and procreation. Today, that judgment lingers in legislative policy, insurance practices, and societal attitudes that perpetuate stigma. Women are still expected to “prove” they aren’t using it for the “wrong reasons,” as though contraception is inherently shameful.

This lack of access mirrors the current political atmosphere in the United States, where governing bodies are further encroaching on women’s bodily autonomy. Contraception hasn’t been free for years, and now abortion is banned in many states. Religious fundamentalists have hijacked the purpose of The Pill — and women’s reproductive health overall — while seamlessly weaving a compelling, unscientific narrative designed to trigger the fear and shame that their target audience was groomed with. Their messaging is flawless — they have succeeded in removing all logical debate about The Pill as medicine, and so its use effectively brands any of its users with a scarlet "A.”

Meanwhile, medications like Viagra—used solely for sexual performance—are covered by insurance without question.

It’s time to reframe the conversation.

The Pill Is Medicine.

It’s medicine for women like Liz, who needed it for acne and agency over her reproductive health. It’s medicine for women like Veronica, who needs it to manage the early symptoms of perimenopause. It’s medicine for millions of others managing PCOS, endometriosis, irregular cycles, or rheumatoid arthritis.

And yes, it’s also medicine for women who need to avoid pregnancy—for physical, mental, or emotional reasons.

No medication’s side effect should be shame.

Despite the progress of the past fifty years, the problem is worsening. Project 2025, a conservative policy agenda, poses potential threats to reproductive health and rights. The plan includes recommendations that could severely limit reproductive autonomy and access to reproductive health care in the United States, turning back the clock even further on hard-won gains both domestically and globally.

One is financially allowed to use The Pill for off-label purposes such as managing the symptoms of MS, PCOS, or RA, all with the same outcome: temporary infertility. To use it for its original purpose, however, is still so repulsive that companies in the United States fought to offload it from their insurance coverage citing religious standing because “businesses are persons” (despite the separation of church and state).

Access to contraception is already a significant issue. The 2022 KFF Women's Health Survey found that more than one-third (36%) of reproductive-age females who use oral contraception have missed taking it on time because they were unable to access their next dose.

It’s a miracle that Veronica can find a way around her German insurance’s outdated approach to The Pill. But what about the other women who don’t know how to have the prescription written for ‘other purposes?’ Or those who don’t live in a country that has such a loophole?

How women can drive change

While policy remains the largest obstacle to change, there are steps all women can take to push for action. 

Normalize the Pill as Healthcare

• Use language that highlights its health benefits, such as "hormonal therapy" or "menstrual health management," to shift the focus away from its contraceptive effects when appropriate.

• Educate others about the diverse medical applications of The Pill. Challenge stigmas with facts and compassion.

Advocate for Access and Policy Change

• Support policies ensuring insurance coverage for contraceptives, regardless of their use.

• Donate to organizations working to expand access to birth control and destigmatize its use.

• Start a citizen initiated ballot measure in the USA.

Share Stories and Speak Up

• Visibility matters. Freely share your experiences and encourage others to share theirs to help normalize The Pill and highlight the diversity of reasons it’s prescribed.

• Challenge harmful comments or myths in conversations or online.

Support Comprehensive Sex Education

• Advocate for programs that teach the full scope of contraceptive uses and reproductive health options without judgment.

• Equip the next generation with the tools to make informed decisions.

Practice Generational Empathy

• Understand that older generations, like Liz’s mother, were taught only one side of the issue. Change is possible through patience, education, and dialogue. We recommend the book “Supercommunicators” for this purpose.

The Pill is much more than a tool for preventing pregnancy. It’s a lifesaving, health-enhancing medication that has empowered millions of women to take control of their bodies and their futures.

We must reject the moral and cultural narrative that burdens women with shame and defensiveness for seeking healthcare. It’s time to treat The Pill as what it truly is: medicine.

Now, let’s make it accessible, affordable, and free from judgment—for everyone.